


Letting Go

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Amnesiac Grunkle Stan, Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13557006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: "I don't love you anymore."





	Letting Go

He remembers the pig, the kids, and even his brother. It comes back in pieces like a fractured tessellation; like the slowest game of Tetras. He remembers first hiring Soos, how the kid had tailed him like a puppy and how terrified Stan had been of wrecking him. Soos keeps trying to convince Stan to call him Stan Junior but, shitty memory or no, Stan knows he isn’t doing that. Still, it’s easy to get fond of the guy all over again. He’s just so genuine and nice.

The twins are bittersweet, memories coming back in reverse: watching Bill threaten to kill them, scaling a damn mountain to save them from falling, Mabel juice. Mabel is a shadow, and endless stream of stories and memories, hoping each spark will catch in Stan's empty-thatch head. Dipper is more practical but, for all the kid’s attempts to seem like an adult, he still beams like a goof when Stan remembers something. It’s so damn sweet and Stan thinks that even if he didn’t remember them he’d love them for how much they love him.

Ford, though. Ford is hard. Stan doesn’t always remember him, sometimes calls him Pops. Each time Stan trips up Ford gets more and more sullen. He’s polite and careful, Stan knows that Ford cares about him, but Stan can’t remember much about him. There’s some images knocking around in Stan’s head but if they’re really brothers he feels like he should remember more. Hell, they’re twins. Just watching Mabel and Dipper he feels like him and Ford should be joined at the hip (and that thought makes something in his brain twitch like an itch). Instead, Stan remembers Ford yelling at him, Ford’s happy, dumb face every time he did something Stan couldn’t. He remembers loving Ford but when he sits in the room his family tells him is his he thinks hard and feels nothing. It makes him sad.

It’s a night like that when he’s finally alone with Ford. His brother comes into the kitchen, scrubbing at his eyes. He looks haggard, stubble ragged and eyes bruised. He startles when he sees Stan, one hand frozen against his face.

“ I didn’t think anyone else was awake.” He says, bringing his hands down to hang at his side.

“ Couldn’t sleep,” Stan shrugs, looks at his exhausted brother and sighs. He pushes away from the table and ambles to the fridge, pulls out a carton of milk. From the cabinets he gets vanilla and a carefully hidden stash of sugar.

“ What are you doing?” Ford asks, watching him curiously and Stan sets a dented pot on the stove.

“ Making a drink.” Stan grunts, fiddles with the range until his gets the eye heating. He measures out the milk, some vanilla. He waits.

“ Hot milk?” Ford comes over to him, is standing close behind him. Stan shrugs.

“ Seemed right.” He says and stirs the pot, making sure it doesn’t boil. He can feel Ford’s quiet laugh.

“ Like Ma used to make,” he sighs, nostalgic.

“ Wouldn’t know.” Stan grunts, defensively spooning in sugar, just a little.

“ ...I suppose not,” Ford says and Stan feels him leaving.

“ Si’down, Stanford, we gotta talk.” He hears the hesitation of the heavy boots and then tracks them to the table, hears the chair scrape the floor. He looks over his shoulder, sees Ford’s grave, hard face. He shakes his head, pours out two mugs of the hot milk, one for Ford one for himself. He sits opposite his brother. Ford folds his hands in front of him.

“ Well?” He prompts. Stan snorts into his mug, it’s too hot to drink.

“ The hell are we, Ford?”

“ I’m not sure what you mean.”

“ Ford, I ain’t stupid. Head like a blown egg, sure, but I ain’t stupid. I can piece together enough to know that you an’ me? We know jack about each other.” Stan starts, watches as Ford’s face pinches and his mouth opens to interrupt. “Can it, I ain’t done.” Ford leans back with a glare and grabs his mug to blow on. “Now, we got forty years between us of radio silence. Ten years ya never reached out ta me,” and Ford looks ready to argue so Stan pushes on, “and then thirty years with ya in sci-fi land.”

“ It’s not my fault I was pushed through the portal, Stanley,” Ford snaps.

“No, but nobody made ya build the damn thing in the first place.” Stan drawls, leaning back and watching his brother bristle. “Here’s the thing, _Stanford,_ we’re strangers.” Stan watches the moment fury becomes bewildered hurt.

“ Stan, we’re not--”

“ Ford, even with my head the way it is, that’s forty years we missed. That’s most of my damn life.” Stan looks down at his milk. “I don’t know who ya are.” He says and hates the hitch in Ford’s breath but can’t pull the words back and now he can’t make them stop.

“ Stan, I’m...I’m your brother.”

“ I dunno what that means Ford.” He looks up, serious. “I know what it meant ta me back then but, ta you, brother don’t seem to mean much.”

“ How could you say that, after everything--”

“ Yeah, after everything, Ford. I had to do shit to get ya to even look my way after one lousy mistake!” Stan tries not to shout, knows the kids are sleeping upstairs. “Mabel damn near ends the world on accident and Dipper didn’t hesitate a second!” And Ford flinches.

“ They’re children, Stanley. They don’t know better.” He mutters, wounded and angry.

“ And you?”

“ What?”

“ Do you know better?” Stan asks and feels his anger start to bleed away.

“ Stan--”

“ Did ya ever love me, Stanford?” Stan asks, seriously. Ford looks like Stan physically hit him.

“ How could you--Stan! Of course I loved you! I love you. Nothing could change that.” Ford reaches a hand out, as if touching Stan will make him believe. Stan doesn’t take it. Instead, he stares at it and thinks.

“ Then, I think...you’re lucky.” Stan says slowly. The words in his heart are heavy but they need to be said. “If that’s what you call love then...you’re lucky I don’t love you anymore.” Stan say at last and he tries not to look at Ford.

“ You...you don’t mean that.” Ford says, voice hitching. Stan doesn’t look at him. He drains his mug, sludgy sugar hitting his lips.

“ Ford, I think, before we try to be brothers again, you should figure out what that means.” and he finally looks at his brother. Ford looks gutted, eyes bright, mouth pinched. Stan’s face falls in sympathy. “Ain’t like I never loved ya Ford, I did. And, hell, maybe I can love ya again. But right now, my brain keeps tellin’ me that you never treated me right. And for once, my heart’s listenin’.” Ford crumbles a bit more with every word and Stan feels both wretched and free. He swallows. “Good night, Stanford.”

He doesn’t have anymore trouble sleeping.

 


End file.
